I hate the saying, "Baby's Mama."
It's so ******. As I drifted off to
sleep last night, crocked on a plethora of
pills, and the remnants of *****, I thought
to myself, She's a little bluebird that
burrowed in my heart.
I laughed and slobbered, and drifted
into the warm fuzzy black.

She's intuitive, she asked me to let
the nurse know that her and the kids were
coming so that there would be a smooth
transition with staff. Hospitals can be
peculiar when it comes to visitation with children.

So she asked me how I wanted to refer to her.
She's the Mother of my 2-year old
daughter, and she has a 10-year old boy
that I have been around for 6 years.
He's like my own son, but 'technically,  he's not.
I don't want to offend anyone. It's all so
******* complicated. I could say, "This is Bonnie,
I'm Clyde, and this is our gang." They probably
wouldn't laugh. I feel very comfortable saying,
"These are our kids, and this is their Mom"

If the kids weren't in ear-shot and I felt
like a rapscallion, I might say,"This is a woman
that I used to love and **** a lot! Finally we had
our daughter- WOW- AMAZING! ! !
The boy came along before I met her, but I love him
like my own son- always and forever."

Anyway, this is my daughter, and my son, and a woman that I used to
love and **** a lot, also, a fantastic Mother, and when
I'm twacked out d-toxing- drifting off to sleep, and
laughing about what to call her, I might just call her
my little bluebird, that burrows in my heart.

My old name is dead to me.
That's why they call it a deadname.
The person who had that name breathes no more.
She was killed by my own hands.

She was named for both of her grandmothers,
some sort of sentiment to come from a careless mistake.
Maybe this is what made it so easy for me to **** her
because her name was a throw-away.

Her middle name came from the title of a movie
that her parents had once liked.
But the movie is old and bland, and the plot has no meaning.
So her names are futile attempts at trying to right a wrong,
trying to make up for something that can never be fixed.

I killed her.
I wanted her dead so badly,
so I killed her.

My name is Casey.

I am not heartless, though.
She wanted me to be Casey.
Although I killed her, she still means something to me.

I had to **** her in order to move on.
She knew that.
So I am Casey for her.

Casey.

It means spear.
A weapon.

Fitting for a murderer.

I once had a nurse named Ivy, When I
was at Mercy Hospital D-Toxing.
She wasn't poison, and didn't wind and wrap
around my room giving it that garden green and
alive look.  There was never any doubt that I was
surrounded by four beige walls, and two locked doors
at the end of those long torturous halls that I walked daily.

She was a short squat thing with big eyes and large
plump thumbs.  The name Ivy didn't fit her.
My daughter's middle name is Ivy.  She is breathtaking--all
pumpkin pie colored hair.  She has the temperament of
autumn too, just like her mama.  It feels like a stomach
virus to be apart from her.  She twists and tightens around
my broken heart... We **** sure picked the right
name for her

You called her a ****** bag
Mean and a prat
She said you were selfish
That your arrogance was a fact.

You said she was violent
And she said the same.
You said her love for me
Would only ever be a claim.

And she you would push
everyone close to you away
And you said she’d never care for anyone
Even for a day.

And you said she would leave
And blame our falling out on me.
She said you would fight us all for your
Self-righteous victory

I'm not sure I should say this
But I think that I just might
Because you were both *******
So, you both were right.

There's no hope of future friendship
Even if I wanted there to be
Because you both were awful
And you both hurt me.

Beautiful
Wise
Victorious
All words that describe Sigrid
But Sigrid,
None describe you.

Mars InSight Mission
revealing the heart of Mars-
boarding pass received
two million plus names on board
earning frequent flyer miles

when sitting at your desk
you experience hypesthesia
from being to statuesque
it's called paresthesia

don't want to swear
by yelling out bollix
take it out with blare
or a string called grawlix

do you have that tickling
feeling on your niddick
don't know that christening
it's your nape to be specific

going into winter sun
that soft warm felicity
experienced by everyone
that is called apricity

ever been a ***** or a ******?
i have. and other names
mostly given.

ever been a scapegoat?
i have. been a toy
to the hatfields and the mccoys.

any ink of brain leakage
taken to the sawbone
stitches over stitches
on my lips sewn by my own hands
the sands of time have passed, slow
as they can fall --

blood from rips goes on the walls
smear memories on the old ****
to make a little sense of the prison
in which i was living

make a little bit of sense of my enemies
apparently, i choose to ride the prisms
of a prison to the coffin, as i'm better use dead
but what kind of exit is a bullet to the head?

tell you, it's a mess, what it is

Words words
Btch and whre
The girl runs away
She slams the door
She takes a knife
And cuts her skin
Remembering how f*cked up her life has been
She leans to the toilet
Throws up to be thin
At school all she has is a grin
She cuts cuts cuts some more
Screaming in pain, blood on the floor
People call her emo and laugh at her face
But they haven’t tried to be in her place
Her dad, just died, her mum had depression
Her brother has to go through a therapy session
Why can’t people see? That grin is a lie
Everything’s done for her, her life’s slowly fading by
Blood’s dripping on the floor, she’s screaming in pain
She can’t eat because that’s more weight to gain
She wishes to be perfect she says it’s not fair
She says she hears people always talking about her hair
She cuts it all off, her soul has been broken
But she never told anyone, her words were never spoken
She takes the rope, hangs herself in the dark
She no longer has a beating heart
Her friend fall to the ground
When they hear the words “She’s dead”
Her brother cries as he sleeps in her bed
She is gone
She is done
Just because of people making fun
She’s buried on a Saturday
People start crying

So before judging someone on their weight or their clothes
Their laugh, their talk, their hair or their nose
Just take a moment to realize and see
Everyone is not always what they seem to be.